Page 8

Mad Max Love Child

T he gate opens with its usual buzz, and the sound reverberates around my tired mind.

I spot the guys standing a little further out, in front of a line of four bikes which they are leaning on.

In the front of them and closer to the gate is a black bike, I have no idea what kind.

Most bikes in the Wastes are rebuilt with what we have and no longer look like the sleek kind you used to see in the pre-scorch magazines.

They look more like something out of Mad Max.

The roadie from last night is leaning against it, the fury clear on his face.

Ah, so I’m guessing it’s my new ride, I eye it with new appreciation.

It looks fast, a sleek black and grey body with places to hide weapons built in.

Heading his way, I nod to the guards as I do.

Stopping a couple of steps away from the roadie, I put my hand near my knife which is tied to the waistband of my pants, just in case.

He straightens up and slowly makes his way to me.

Really? He’s wearing leather pants and no top.

The leather pants are ridiculous in this heat.

Tops are okay. Vests better but the pants just make you sweat and then they are impossible to get off.

Just because it’s the apocalypse doesn’t mean we need to dress like some fucked up love child of Mad Max and Sal from Doomsday.

Which is a great film by the way, me and my brother snuck in to watch it as kids.

Of course, I never expected to be living it or I might have paid more attention.

He steps to my side and without saying anything, tosses me the keys.

I catch them and offer him a nod, he snarls at me and spits at my feet as he stomps past. What a sore loser.

I shake away the dust in my head, and saunter over to where the guys are waiting.

Nodding at them, I turn to look out at the land in front of us stretching as far as the eye can see.

The heat is bouncing off the earth creating a weird mist over the ground, the blackened remains of dead trees swaying in the slight breeze.

It’s strange, roadies and scavs are okay in the Wastes, but happier in The Rim.

Me? I love it out here. I might moan and gripe, but it feels like home.

The unforgiving terrain, the brutality of it all - after all the land doesn’t care.

I face the never-ending scorched earth, a real smile graces my lips.

There’s something about this lawless land that draws the wildness in me; I could easily live out here if I wanted.

I would miss human interaction though, as much as I might seem to hate it.

Plus, it would make it easier for certain people to find me, which is why I put the miles and miles of land between me and him.

I’m surprised it has stopped him, but I know it will only work for so long.

Turning, I put my back to the blazing heat and face the guys.

“Okay, so what do you know about the Wastes?” I talk as I walk back to my new bike and drop my bag to the ground beside it.

I copy their stance and lean back against the bike.

My sunglasses are in place and my hair is braided behind me, putting my weapons on clear display.

I feel badass I admit, it was how I dressed when I was a fighter.

Just with more weapons and no face paint.

I also didn’t miss the way Drax and Jax’s eyes tracked me as I walked out, nor did I miss their slight inhale and pupil dilation; it made me feel good.

Thorn looks me up and down and flashes me a quick smile.

Maxen just continues leaning back against his bike.

I can’t help but stare at him. He’s wearing white high waisted pants which are tight around the waist and then flare out, which weirdly worked for him.

He’s shirtless, showing off some impressive ink and shoulder holsters.

I have the urge to step closer and see what the tattoos are, but I hold my position, instead satisfying myself by looking him over again.

I can see the bulge in his pants where he has more weapons stored.

Tied to his bike is a leather jacket. All in all, he looks badass.

Both twins are in matching white vest tops and black jeans.

I don’t see a weapon, but I know they must have some; they would be stupid not to.

Thorn has a black leather vest on which only highlights his skin.

He’s wearing black jeans and when he moves, I see the blades peeking out of the vest and the hilt of his sword is visible over his shoulder.

“Other than the obvious?” Drax asks, I’m guessing it's Drax as Jax doesn’t seem to talk much and it’s too far to check their eyes. I really need to find a way to tell them apart without getting close enough to see their eyes. I raise my eyebrow and wait.

“We call it No Man’s Land. Because no man comes back,” Jax’s deep rough voice rumbles. So I was right - yay me. When I remember his words, I nod.

“The territory is divided up,” Thorn states, flashing me his signature smile.

Shit, they really don’t seem to know much about it out there. That doesn’t bode well, there are too many unwritten rules and social expectations within the clans to cover right now .

“Okay, quick Wastes 101. There are four clans past this border. Reeves, The Seekers, The Worshippers, and The Berserkers. You were right the Wastes are divided up and they protect their territory fiercely. We are heading straight into Reeves land to get to The Ring. You will do what I say and not speak. Understood?” I wait for them to nod.

“Should we worry about them?” Thorn asks.

“They are okay, the territory is made up of mostly scavs and roadies and they tend to be the ones here at The Rim. Their leader is an older man, scary as hell, but you can bargain with him. They’re the most social of the clans, but don’t mistake that for weakness,” I don’t have enough time to cover the others with them, so I hope we don’t run into them.

All it would take would be one mistake and the other clans will be circling them like vultures.

“Oh, and don’t wander off,” I added. Turning back to my new bike, I swing my leg over it, knocking the kickstand off.

“Why?” I hear Maxen’s rumble over the engine of my new ride.

“There are all sorts out there, just waiting to eat you. Literally. The cannibals, they love to snatch people when they are alone. Stray packs of dogs. Worse,” I say with a look back and see they are all perched on their bikes, waiting.

“Dogs?” Drax laughs. I frown at him.

“Stray ferals. They work in packs and I’ve seen them tear men bigger than you to shreds in seconds.

They aren't the pets you remember, they are complete beasts now and they will use your hesitation to kill them against you,” I turn back around but not before seeing his raised eyebrows.

I pull my bandana up from around my neck and cover my nose and mouth.

It’s not a necessity but the bike will kick up a lot of dirt and I don’t want my mouth to taste like grit.

“Let’s go!” I start off and I hear the rumble of their bikes as they follow.

This should be fun, I think with a humourless laugh.

We are stopped behind the ruins of an old building.

I’m laying on my jacket, staring at the sky with my arms crossed under my head.

The drive to The Ring should take just over a day from here, which means we need to camp somewhere tonight and most of tomorrow.

There's no point heading into The Ring during the day, it will be empty, and we are more likely to hit the patrols from the clans’ territory we are in .

The Waste is basically one big rough-edged square, the border to the south is where The Rim sits.

The rest is divided up between the four clans like I told the guys, with the exception of the middle which boasts The Ring, and the mountains to the east. It’s not easy to survive there and that tends to be where the cannibals are.

To the left of The Ring is the cult clan, The Worshippers.

They really call themselves Worshippers of The Sun.

Catchy right? They love this new world and believe the sun bestows power or some shit.

They steal women for their leader's little wife selection.

The men are rough and some of the best fighters you will see.

The only upside is they tend to keep to themselves.

To the right of The Ring, and with plenty of room from the mountains is The Seekers.

They are mostly hunters and assassins. You pay them the right price and they will do just about anything.

Their clan is run by a man not much older than me, a scary bastard called Dray.

Rumour is, he killed his father and brother who ran the clan.

I met him a couple of times and it was enough to earn my respect.

For some reason, he always seemed to be at my fights.

I only noticed because he’s a hard person to miss.

Eyes as cold as the sea, I remember when I was younger, a wicked looking scar running from temple to mouth where someone tried to cut him in two making him look like a Viking warrior.

Oh, and he’s a complete psychopath. I saw someone stab him and he laughed, like a full belly laugh. I learned never to mess with him.

The North is what you should worry about though.

Home to the meanest and toughest bastards you will ever meet.

They don’t show mercy or leniency, they are true warriors.

They master weapons and fighting as kids and only grow to hit harder and faster than any other fighters.

It’s made up of all men, women are only permitted as the help, or should I say, slaves?

They pounce on any weakness. I’ve seen their men kill for a drink, so yeah.

.. not people to mess with. Their leader rules his clan with an iron fist and they are completely loyal to him.

Their territory is the largest, and although the other clans won’t admit it, they have a grudging respect for them and an unspoken policy not to fuck with them.

Their border from The Ring is set miles back and there is only one road into the main area. It’s lined with bones of their enemies, like some sort of macabre welcoming committee. The land surrounding the road is booby-trapped, and let’s just say being blown up is a horrible way to die.

They call themselves The Berserkers. Their leader is the coldest, most evil man you will ever meet in the Wastes. Oh, and did I mention it’s my old clan? You can see why I’m such a ray of fucking sunshine .

The Ring, or purgatory to the fighters, is a peace zone.

You don’t start fights there unless it’s in the pit and you sure as shit don’t piss off the other clans.

The only place death is allowed is in the pit, and most fights are to the death.

Leaving an opponent alive means you’re weak, and sometimes it’s a mercy killing them there and then.

The peace there is hard-won and the only reason it works is that they’re so focused on the people beating the shit out of each other in the pit, that they don’t care what the other clans are doing.

There are two different types of fighters: the slaves and the freemen.

The freemen do it for respect or to prove to their clan the size of their dicks.

Slaves are different, they have no choice.

Most masters throw in men that are useless to them, or women who piss them off.

Any slave can win their freedom from their masters after thirty fights, but many don’t make it past the first. If you make it over ten, you earn a following, twenty and you’re famous.

To win all thirty? You become a champion.

It’s how I won my freedom, but the decisions I made in the ring left me scarred.

You don’t come out of something like that the same.

I shake myself out of my morbid thoughts and concentrate on planning our next steps.

I’m deep in thought, when I feel the air change above me.

Instantly, I roll to a crouching position a couple of feet away from where I had been laying.

Crouching near where I had been laying is Thorn looking confused.

I tilt my head, more animalistic than human.

He stands and holds out a canteen for me.

I stand, and only then do I realise I have a knife palmed in each hand out of habit.

I slide them away and walk the few steps to him.

I grab the canteen, my fingers sliding against his in thanks.

His skin is coarse and filled with callouses.

I take a few sips, never taking my eyes of his. He stands there with a relaxed smile in place. I lower the canteen and wipe the back of my hand across my mouth.

“You shouldn’t try and sneak up on me. It could have ended differently,” I say in a low voice.

“Noted. There’s only one reason people have reflexes like that, and who move that fast from being half asleep.

What happened to you?” His face is serious as I hand the canteen back to him.

Pushy bastard, who just asks about someone's past like that?

I look up, calculating the time and then look over at the others where they are sitting a couple of feet away, watching our exchange.

“You don’t want to know, now let’s go,” I wait for them to nod, but Thorn offers me a searching look.

Ignoring him, I head over to my bike picking up my jacket and shaking it as I go.

I can still feel his eyes burning a hole in me.

I start to get annoyed. Gritting my teeth, I set off without them.

Let them play catch up if this is how it’s going to be.